


Shattered By The Ones I Thought I Loved

by Saoirse_Laochra



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Forced Drug Use, Mental Hurt/Comfort, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 04:42:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7420321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saoirse_Laochra/pseuds/Saoirse_Laochra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I could see it in their eyes. All of 'em wanted ta ask why I went back for him. They'd all seen how he treated me. An' what they'd seen was jus' the tip of one hell of an iceberg, that went back more than thirty years." A look into Daryl and Merle's relationship growing up, and why Daryl both loves, and hates his older brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shattered By The Ones I Thought I Loved

It was kinda funny. Nobody asked why I went back for my brother, but nobody asked why I stayed with the group that left him behind neither.

Nobody ever really asked me much a anythin'.

But I could see it in their eyes. All of 'em wanted ta ask. Wanted ta know why I went back for Merle. They'd all seen how he treated me. An' what they'd seen was jus' the tip of one hell of an iceberg, that went back more than thirty years.

My brother loved me, in his own twisted, fucked up way. I know how stupid that sounds; I ain't dumb. I've heard all the bullshit theories, and excuses from the social workers, and the teachers at school. But Merle... He didn't fit in ta any damn text book example a anythin'.

He practically raised me, my brother did. He was 'bout nine by the time our mama gave birth ta me. Nine years old, and both mama and daddy shoved me off to him, tellin' him the squirmin', wigglin' bundle was his responsibility.

While Merle might a given me a lot of painful memories to remember him by... The _only_ good memories I have from bein' young included Merle.

He was kinda one of those... backhanded guys, I guess they call it. He'd shove me down in the dirt, an' then help me up. Pick the pebbles an' glass outta my knees, an' stick some band aids on me. Beat the ever-lovin' shit outta me, then nurse me back ta health for a few days.

But it went the other way too.

He found a puppy one day, when I was 'bout eight years old. He was out 'wandering' – his code for 'gettin' high' –when he seen a box on the side a the road. Some stranger had set a box a puppies there, with a sign readin' 'free', an' this little brown mutt was the only one left. Runt of the litter. He wrapped the damn thing in his jacket, kept it warm, an' brought it home... Said every boy should have a dog, an’ this one was mine.

An' so I named it. Fed it, played with it... Let it sleep in my bed, an' all that good shit.

Three days after Merle brought it home... I came home from school ta find it layin' on my bed, its little body stiff, an' broken. Merle had followed me in, an' he started laughing when he seen the tears in my eyes. Said it'd gotten in his way one too many times, an' he had to show it it's place.

Then he beat the hell outta me for cryin'. Tol' me ta man up. Said that shit happens, an' life ain't fair. Might as well accept it an' move on.

When I was nine, a few weeks after our mama died, he gave me my first pack a cigarettes. Sat me down on my bed, handed me a pack a Marlboro Reds, a lighter, an' a ashtray. Tol' me I had ta smoke all twenty a the little white sticks, an' if I hurled, he'd make me start over. I managed ta smoke 'em all without pukin', but as soon as I'd burnt the last one down ta the filter, I threw up everythin' I'd eaten for the past few days.

He cleaned it up, got me a glass a water, tucked me in bed, an' tol' me how proud a me he was. I ‘member the smile on his face, like I’d just won some sorta medal or somethin’.

When I was twelve, he got me high for the first time. I didn't wanna do it. Screamed, an' kicked, an' fought, but he pinned me down on our bedroom floor, sittin' on my chest, one knee on my arm, as he wrapped his belt above my elbow, an' stuck a needle filled with crank in my veins. Did that twice a day, every day for a week. Never occurred ta my dumb ass brain ta stay away. Kept goin' home, an' every day, he kept pumpin' more an' more a the shit in me.

Then he sat by my side, talkin' an' comfortin' me through the four day withdrawal. Holdin' me down when I got the shakes, gettin' me into a cold shower when I started sweating, talked me through the paranoia, an' the fear.

Then six months later, he repeated the whole thing, usin' smack. Got me addicted, cut me off, an' then walked me through the withdrawal.

When I was thirteen, he got me drunk for the first time. Gave me a bottle of Jameson Whiskey, an' tol' me ta start chuggin'. Don't know how much of the bottle I managed ta choke down, before I passed out. Woke up a day later, an' the first thing I saw was him grinnin' at me, holdin' a cup a water, four Tylenol, an' a bucket on the floor next ta the bed.

When I was fourteen, he hired Katie Trumble from down the street ta have sex with me. Gave me a little white pill, and a bottle of Jack to wash it down with. I only remember bits an' pieces a what happened that night; clearest thing I remember was Katie climbin' off a me, an' her an' Merle goin' it on his bed across the room.

Later, when my head had finally cleared, an' I could think straight again, he'd given me a congratulatory slap on the back, tellin' me how proud he was, an' that I was finally a real man.

When I was fifteen, he got me arrested for the first time. We were ridin' along in his truck, when we seen the blue an' red lights flashin' behind us. Quick as ya please, he'd stuffed a baggie of coke in my pocket, tellin' me I wouldn't serve any time if I said it was mine.

I did six months in a juvenile detention center. An' what happened in there... I won't never say.

The day I got out, he took me out celebrate. Got me drunk, paid a hooker ta fuck me, an' then him.

When I was eighteen, he bought me my first motorcycle. A 1986 Harley.

He ran it over with his truck three weeks later.

When I turned twenty-one, he took me out to the town bar. Instigated a fight with a group a guys.

I got my ass whooped, an' served another six months for public intox, disturbin' the peace, an' disorderly conduct. Only upside was, he served eight months in a cell next ta me.

So why'd I go back?

'Cause he was my brother, an' I loved him. Only family I had left. Only person who ever looked out for me.

Why'd I leave him?

'Cause he made my life a livin' hell, an' I absolutely hated him.


End file.
